Chapter 2

I still remember: the very night I moved out, he changed every piece of furniture in the penthouse, settling in like he owned the place.

And during the wedding, he didn't even let me speak. I became a joke to friends and relatives for ten whole years.

Even just now, seeing me cramped on a narrow cot rubbing ointment on cracked skin, he didn't show a flicker of concern.

All he cared about was his damn promotion.

They were terrified the story might go public. Because they knew exactly how ugly it would look.

And yet they still had the nerve to stand there acting righteous.

Silas and Katherine kept yelling, voices rising, even threatening to have me committed if I "made trouble again."

I watched their spit fly through the air, then slapped Silas across the face.

"Get the hell out of my house! I'm done sheltering a bunch of ungrateful snakes!" I shouted.

My slap landed so hard that Silas's head jerked to the side. He stared at me like he couldn't believe what had just happened.

Katherine snapped out of it first.

Her voice shot up sharp and shrill. "Are you crazy, old woman? How dare you hit Silas? And you've got the nerve to tell us to move out? Wow, you sure talk big for someone living in a storage room!"

She jabbed a finger at my face. "Let's get this straight. This house became ours a long time ago. Letting you stay in that tiny storage room for ten years was us doing you a favor. Don't push it."

She looked like she wanted to hit me back, but when she noticed the neighbors gathering around, she hesitated. And she backed off.

Instead, she stormed into the storage room, pacing like she wanted to smash something.

But the space wasn't even a hundred square feet, barely enough for a narrow cot. There was nothing valuable to break, not even something cheap to toss.

Frustrated, she did the next worst thing. She shoved me hard.

I fell to the floor. My knee slammed against the metal frame, and my leg split open against a loose wire. Warm blood trickled down my skin.

Katherine didn't even glance at it. She opened her mouth to spit more venom.

But Silas caught her by the jaw, covering her mouth with his hand. His eyes were cold.

"Mom," he said, his voice low enough to frost the air, "that slap counts as you repaying whatever you think you did for me. This is the last time I'm letting something like this slide.

"You tell us to move out again, and I swear I'll have you thrown into a psych ward."

Then he dragged Katherine away without even looking back at me.

A child nearby whispered, "Mom, why does that old lady live here?"

The mom shushed him, pulling him along.

"People say her husband died early because of her," she said. "Nothing went right for her after that. And now even her son and daughter-in-law are having trouble. We should stay away from someone with that kind of bad luck."

I picked myself up, wiped the blood with a crumpled tissue, and limped toward the hospital.

The whole way there, one question kept circling my mind: What did I do so wrong that everyone ended up standing against me?

At the hospital, a long-time colleague ran into me. When she heard what happened, her face froze in disbelief.

Without hesitation, she paid for my treatment and insisted I move into her vacant apartment.

Something warm stirred in my chest. For the first time in years, I realized I wasn't the one who was mistaken. Justice still existed, just not in that house.

After we said goodbye, I went straight to a real-estate agency.

Enough was enough. I wanted to sell the house. I wanted my freedom back.

But the agent kept clicking, frowning deeper each time.

"Ma'am, are you sure the property is yours? The system shows the owner is Silas. It was transferred to him six years ago," he said.

The words struck like lightning. I collapsed into the chair.

How?

How could the house be in Silas's name? This was mine. Mine and my late husband's. How could it have just disappeared from me?

No wonder. No wonder Katherine always insisted the house belonged to them.

No wonder Silas covered her mouth that day.

The child I had poured my whole life into had quietly taken the only thing my husband left me.

They worried about their future. They worried about their child. But for me—their mother—they had no place in their hearts.

Somewhere along the way, I had already become a stranger to them.

I pulled out my phone with shaking fingers and called my colleague.

This wasn't something I could let go.